


Fix You

by wtfrenchtoast



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 22:05:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfrenchtoast/pseuds/wtfrenchtoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They always knew it would happen this way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fix You

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to badcircuit for her beta work :) muah! 
> 
> Coldplay - Fix You. Obvi.

 

// _and high up above or down below_

_when you're too in love to let it go_

_but if you never try you'll never know_

_just what you're worth_ //

 

They stumble in the door, barely able to stay upright. The rush of breath that escapes Natasha’s chest sounds more like a wheeze than just an exhale, and betrays the pain she’s been hiding since they left base. She drops to the tile in an exhausted heap of limbs. 

 

Clint doesn’t fare much better. He leans up against the closed door, eyes closed, just focusing on the steady rhythm of his chest rising and falling. It’s proof. They made it. By microseconds and a hair’s width and all that, but they made it. He squeezes his hands into fists, feeling the tensing of his tired muscles and his short fingernails digging into his palms. 

 

He tries to be grateful for the what-did, and keep his thoughts away from the what-if. Today is not that day. 

 

Coulson drops his briefcase, impossibly immaculate and almost obnoxious in comparison to its tattered owner, onto the floor. His face is blank. Only the tight set of his lips gives away any indication of how shaken he is. 

 

None of them speak for several long minutes. The silence is welcomed, like a warm blanket, after hours of frantic commands and last resorts and fear, pure and icy. 

 

Finally, with a decisiveness that startles the other two, Clint crouches down and hauls Natasha to her feet. His lithe, steely arms pull her into a kiss. It’s messy, bordering on rough , and Phil can tell by the desperate clutch of his fingers into the fabric of her suit how much emotion is seeping from him. Natasha was skittish on a good day. Clint rarely risked overwhelming her with his tendency to...well, overwhelm. 

 

It was a safe bet, though, because she melts into him like butter. Long, slender fingers slide Iinto the close-cropped hair near the nape of Clint’s neck and grip tight. The warmth that they emanate is a slow burn, instead of the uncontrollable brushfire that usually ignites when they are near each other. Probably thanks to the numerous bruises and torn muscles and lacerations that they’d count like stars later. But maybe more like...relief? 

 

Phil turns his head towards the ficus that is slowly taking over a large corner of the living room.  _Should trim that soon._  

 

He closes his eyes in resignation. There is longing, it’s only natural. But he never insinuates himself between them. If they want him, either of them, they would have to come to him first. 

 

With a heavy sigh, he coaxes his stiff, aching legs to carry him into the smaller bedroom at the end of the hall. He would take a shower, sleep off the last vestiges of adrenaline, and face the massive stack of paperwork that awaits him like a man. 

 

A soft moan, Natasha’s, slips out behind him, and his dick twitches in his pants. despite all of his professional decorum, his legendary restraint. He grits his teeth and trudges forward. Make that shower on the cool side. 

 

Or, hell, maybe he’ll take care of himself while he’s in there, quick and quiet. Bite his own tongue so they don’t hear, work himself up until it spills out of him in one cathartic purge.

 

Another step. 

 

“Phil.” A deeper voice, the timbre of which sends a shiver through him. “You going somewhere?” 

 

He doesn’t turn around. “Shower,” he answers evenly. 

 

He blinks, and Natasha’s immediately in front of him. Six years and she can still surprise him. “Alone?” she murmurs. Not seductively does she ask, but with a rare vulnerability. Her crystal-blue eyes pierce his. 

 

He remains perfectly still. It’s the best plan when he’s unsure of her intentions. She’s close enough where he can smell her, a blend of her shampoo and sweat and something undeniably _her._

 

Phil doesn’t flinch. Even when he feels the brush of a hand along his shoulder, gently skimming his torn jacket. He glances down. Natasha’s arms hang at her sides. He can hear his own heartbeat thrum in his ears.

 

“You don’t have to go. Sir.” Clint’s voice is in his ear, low and soothing, as the archer’s hands come to rest on Phil’s shoulders. He has to force himself not to lean into the touch. This could all be over as fast as it had begun and he’s terrified of breaking the spell. 

 

They’re surrounding him now, she at his front and Clint at his back. Waiting for his word. 

 

“You don’t have to,” he attempts. The only thing worse than this being some sort of fevered dream is if it’s real, but an obligation. “Three’s a crowd, I know.” 

 

There’s a note of wry amusement in Clint’s laugh. “If I may, sir? Three’s a party.”  

 

Natasha rolls her eyes at Clint’s display of rapier wit. “What he means is that we don’t think of it that way.”

 

Phil still can’t shake the guilt that’s descending over him like a fog. He hesitates. 

 

She takes his hand, warm against his. “Do you not want this?” She knows damn well what his answer will be, but the question acknowledges his reservations. Shows that she understands.

 

“Of course not,” he says, not unkindly. “It’s not me I’m worried about.”

 

“We know,” Clint reminds him from over his shoulder. “I mean, we’ve known. Just been waiting for the right time.” 

 

Oh. “Let us show you,” Natasha says quietly. She guides his hand to the zipper that’s nestled between her breasts. With a gentle pull, she closes his fingers around it and tugs downward, splitting the taut fabric of her suit. The creamy, porcelain skin beneath is flawless, and the desire to see more of it begins to take hold of him. 

 

“Isn’t she beautiful?” croons Clint. Transfixed, Phil can only nod weakly. 

 

When the zipper reaches her belly button she peels the suit open all the way, baring herself to both men. Phil’s breath catches in his throat as he drinks in the perfect, slender curves of her body and the way her simple black bra cups her amazing breasts.  Lust, thick and hot, races through his blood. 

 

And – oh. Clint presses himself flush against Phil’s back. And suddenly he realizes that he’s about to get tag-teamed by the deadliest pair of assassins in the world.  

 

His mouth goes dry. 

 

Clint tugs insistently at the lapels of his handler’s jacket, dragging it off and setting it gently  on the back of an armchair. Natasha grabs the end of his ever-present black tie like it’s a leash and smirks. “When we’re all at one hundred percent and less ‘beaten to a bloody pulp,’ I promise you, Phil Coulson, we’ll blow your mind.”

 

They make their way down the narrow hall, Phil led helplessly, Clint bringing up the rear. “I’ll trust that you’ll put your money where your mouth is,” Phil remarks. It’s the first coherent sentence he’s been capable of forming since this whole surreal daydream began.

 

She tosses an all-out grin over her shoulder. “Would you like to find out exactly what I can do with my mouth, sir?”

 

“Say yes,” urges Clint, like a kid on Christmas.  

 

Phil laughs. He wouldn’t change a single thing about either of them.

 

Natasha bumps the bedroom door open with her hip, wincing when it hits the tender edge of a bruise. He runs his fingers tenderly over the purple-blue skin. He wants to kiss every single one.

 

Clint wastes no time shedding his vest and pants, leaving them in a puddle on the carpet. He’s hardly unscathed, especially his arms, which are constantly exposed when he’s in combat. There’s a particularly nasty graze on his left tricep, where he barely dodged a hollow-point meant for Natasha. 

 

Phil wonders what it’d be like to be manhandled by those arms. Then he feels dizzy with the revelation that he’s about to find out. 

 

The archer wraps a thickly muscled forearm around her waist, turning her so she faces Phil. Even weary and battle-worn, they’re a stunning pair. She shimmies out of the rest of her suit. The plain but delicate black thong covering her is sexier than the fanciest lingerie. 

 

“Last to the party as always, Coulson,” she murmurs as Clint slides her bra strap over her shoulder, trailing kisses as he goes. 

 

“If you don’t mind,” he says mildly, leaning back on the fluffy comforter, “I’d like to observe. For now.”  

 

Clint glances up from where he’s running his tongue along Natasha’s collarbone. “Really? You sure?”

 

“Like I said,” he answers. “For now.” He settles comfortably onto the coverlet, watching them expectantly. 

 

“Suit yourself,” Natasha smirks. She props her foot up on the bed with an arrogance only she could get away with. 

 

He’s never spent much time cataloging the exact component of Natasha that elevates her from simply a beautiful woman to a bombshell. Her looks are unrivaled, sure, and she’s got a body that a bikini model would envy. But, Phil realizes, she gives little thought to either. Her confidence comes from her mind, not the shell in which it’s housed.  

 

But damn. She could bring him to his knees with one look. His mind wanders. Knees. Him. Her above him as he laps at her wet folds. 

 

He loosens his tie.

 

Clint makes short work of her bra, letting it flutter to the floor without another thought. She, in turn, reaches behind her hips and tugs his boxer briefs down until they form a small pile around his ankles. He steps to the side as she turns and drops to a crouch in front of him, giving Coulson an unimpeded view of Clint’s impressive erection. Natasha’s fingers don’t meet as she wraps her hand around it.   

 

Clint lets his head drop back as she pumps him into a frenzied state. Their handler is so close to the action that he can watch a bead of precum form at the tip of his agent’s cock. Almost involuntarily, he leans forward and Natasha chooses t _hat moment_ to open her lips and swallow Clint down to the hilt. 

 

“Holy fuck,” he chokes out, fingers tangling in her crimson curls. “God, you’re amazing.” He slides a cocky grin at Phil. “Looks good, doesn’t it? Feels even better.”

 

To be honest, Phil doesn’t know whether he’s more enthralled about being on the giving or receiving end. Both are equally as enticing. “I can only imagine.”

 

Clint laughs, which drags out into a moan when Natasha does something purely blissful with her tongue. “Sure you’re not ready to join the action?” 

 

“Soon.” There is something so thrilling about the anticipation, knowing that he only has to say the word and they’ll bestow upon him all of the pleasure they can bring. He squirms, his cock on the verge of discomfort from how hard he’s become. 

 

Natasha sucks cock like she does everything else – brilliantly, in her usual take-no-prisoners style. Clint’s a trembling ball of need in her capable mouth and hands. When he begins to truly shake, his knees close to giving out, she abruptly stops. Rising to her feet, she kisses him deeply, knowing he can taste his own salty musk on her tongue. 

 

Facing Phil, she hooks her thumbs into her skimpy thong and drags it down over her shapely hips, teasingly slow. Clint presses himself to her back and cups her breasts in his large hands. When the scrap of fabric reaches her knees, she lets it fall to the floor. Completely bared to both of them, she reaches for Phil. 

 

His heart jumps but his elation is short-lived, as her only contact with him is to shove him backwards, closer to the headboard. “Make yourself comfortable,” she croons. 

 

He can do little but comply, scurrying back until he’s propped up against the pillows. Feline and impossibly graceful, she mounts the bed, crawling forward on all fours until she’s hovering over Phil’s prone form. Her knees straddle his thighs, but nowhere does she actually touch him. 

 

Her face is only inches from his. Their eyes meet, gazes locking. . She’s so close that he knows the moment that Clint’s tongue delves into the folds of her pussy. “Oh my God, yes,” she breathes.  

 

Phil’s nearly paralyzed with lust. “He’s got a real talent for this, you know,” Natasha confides with a dazed smile. “If the day job doesn’t work out-” 

 

“I resent that,” Clint pipes up. She gives a dismayed wiggle of her hips, and he resumes his attentions to her clit. 

 

“-he could make a career out of this alone,” she finishes. “Stands to reason that his blowjobs are right on par.” 

 

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Phil replies. He wants to be the one with his face buried in her wetness. He also wants to see Clint’s lips wrapped around his cock. 

 

He’ll just have to try both. 

 

Natasha’s mouth drops open and a desperate cry escapes. “Oh, shit,” she pants. He knows that she’s got one of Clint’s long fingers sheathed inside her.

 

“She’s so fucking tight,” Clint growls from behind her. “Wet, too. Dripping.”

 

The narration has Phil’s heart beating a furious drum roll in his chest. “Keep going. Tell me everything.”

 

She whines. “Two fingers, now. Fuck. I’m ready.”

 

Clint rises up on his knees, gripping his cock with one large hand. He lets go in order to take her hips in a firm grasp, fitting himself flush against her ass. “Just the tip,” he murmurs to Phil. “Now…more. Oh, God. You okay so far, baby?” 

 

“Better than okay, Barton. You gonna fuck me?” she smirks. Coulson can’t help but chuckle. 

 

Clint feigns injury, and then his face turns mischievous as he drives his hips forward with one decisive thrust. Natasha shrieks, and Phil needs no narration to know that Clint’s sunk himself balls deep in her soaking pussy. 

 

Phil can’t help it at all now; he’s a man possessed. They’re fucking practically right on top of him. He’d have to be dead and buried not to be consumed by it. He unzips the fly of his dress pants and tugs them down over his hips. He palms his aching hardness as it bobs into front of Natasha’s nose. 

 

“Looks like we finally have some audience participation,” she drawls wryly. He can only smile in reply. Without warning, she dips her head down, long auburn curls forming a curtain around her face, and licks a long stripe from base to dark red tip, causing him to curse loudly.

 

“Is she…?” Clint peers over her shoulder and his face goes slack. “Holy shit. Nat, baby, you gonna suck him off while I fuck you?” His thrusts pick up speed almost involuntarily.

 

“If that’s what he wants.” She brings her half-lidded eyes up to meet Phil’s. “But I seem to recall that he would rather _observe_.” She wouldn’t be Natasha if she didn’t make him eat his words. 

 

“Speaking of which, how’s the view?” Clint calls from behind her. 

 

“Very...realistic.” A bead of sweat rolls down Natasha’s nose and drips onto Phil’s perfectly pressed dress shirt. The look she gives him is glee mixed with pure evil. 

 

“Digital surround sound? 3D?” How Clint’s able to focus on anything but the way he’s pounding into her slick pussy is beyond Phil.  

 

“The works.” Clint must have hit a particularly sweet spot, because her eyes squeeze shut and she groans in a way that makes Phil’s heart stutter. Suddenly the archer sucks in a strained breath, pace faltering, and his thrusts take on a purposeful tone as he drives himself into her. The older agent can tell that he’s about to let it take over, wash over him. He can’t tear his eyes away. 

 

One slender hand slips down between Natasha’s legs. She bites her lip as she rubs her clit frantically, and it’s only a matter of seconds before she cries out. He’s never seen her more beautiful as when her orgasm rips through her like a brush fire.

 

“Fuck,” Clint groans, “she’s squeezing me, I can feel her coming on my cock. I’m gonna…oh fuck, you ready baby?” 

 

A ragged moan is her reply before she drops her chin to engulf Phil completely in her eager mouth. Her tongue, the way her lips form a tight glove of slick wetness around him – he nearly blacks out from the sheer bliss. He’s had blowjobs before, of course, but this? This is like pure heroin to a junkie. The sounds that wrench from his throat would probably embarrass him if he let them; it doesn’t matter now. Clint locks eyes with him as the pace of his thrusts picks up. 

 

They want him. Both of them. The brutal passion in Clint’s bottomless, ocean-blue stare, raw and unfettered, chases away any last vestiges of doubt in Phil’s heart. Coupled with Natasha’s firm but calming hand on his thigh as she pleasures him, it’s more than he would ever dream of hoping for. 

 

Clint seizes up, his entire body taut. “Oh my fucking _God_ ,” he shouts as he empties himself inside Natasha’s wet heat. His stare never wavers from Phil’s. He sinks inside with one final drive forward before sagging against her. 

 

With a grunt he slips out and falls into a sated heap next to his handler, who amazingly has been able to stave off his own release. He has Natasha’s clever  maneuvering to thank for that. He weaves his fingers into her hair lovingly.  

 

“Gets better every time,” Clint says contentedly, rolling onto his side and propping himself up on an elbow. It’s only now that he chooses to lean in and finally kiss Phil. It’s honest and wistful and a little bit filthy, not unlike Clint himself.  

 

Natasha releases Phil’s cock from her lips with an audible pop. “We’re not done yet.” She hastily removes the remainder of Phil’s clothes, discarding them onto the floor with the others. The way her gaze rakes hungrily over him, now naked and bared to them, sends a thrill racing through him. Clint does his fair share of ogling, too – though he’s seen Coulson in the SHIELD locker rooms and on one mission in Calcutta that they do not talk about, it’s a world of difference. This is only the beginning.

 

Phil is not as cut as Clint, not a powerhouse of muscle and sinew. But an aura of formidable presence emanates from him nonetheless, behind the mild-mannered CPA façade. A smattering of coarse dark hair covers his chest and abs, flat with a hint of definition beneath. Judging by the way both of his agents’ pupils grow, they’re pleased with their finding.  

 

He raises his eyebrows. “Got me where you want me?” 

 

“Almost.” Clint dips down and swallows Phil’s aching hardness in one go. His hips jerk upward at the sensation – similar to Natasha but a little rougher, deeper – and it catches him off-guard. It’s fucking amazing. Euphoric, even. He could be content with just this. 

 

And Clint is all too happy to provide. He sucks Phil’s cock like he’s done it a thousand times before, like he knows every intricate detail. 

 

“Clint, baby,” Natasha nudges him with her knee. “I said we weren’t done yet.”

 

He obliges, with a whispered promise that they’d have plenty of time to drive him crazy later. Phil groans. The way they’re turning him inside out now? If they kick it up another notch he’ll need a defibrillator. 

 

Natasha pulls Phil on top of her, spreading her legs to let him settle between them. They’re eye to eye, burning into each other with searing intensity. “Do you want this?” she asks sincerely. 

 

“More than anything.” He lines himself up with her entrance and slides home easily. Even with her and Clint's combined fluids easing his entrance, she's still impossibly tight. She feels better than he could've ever imagined, but knowing that his dick is coated in Clint's come is more arousing than he expected. 

 

The bed shifts as the sniper takes up a position behind Phil, who lets out a slow hissing breath at the sensation of Clint's palms skimming along his back. 

 

"I just..." He can't finish his thought. It's too much. It'll be over too soon, he doesn't think he can hold out. 

 

Natasha squeezes her thighs together, causing her pussy to clamp down on him. He moans. "Let us help." 

 

Together they start a slow rhythm, controlled enough for him to stall his orgasm but quick enough to build the tension. Natasha lifts her hips to meet his, whispering to him how good it feels, how much she and Clint want him. Everything he needs to hear to know how utterly intentional this is. 

 

Clint's hands continue to stroke up and down the smooth planes of his back. When they withdraw, Phil wants to protest but they're soon  - lower, this time. There is a cool, slick sensation at his opening - too narrow, it's a finger, he realizes - that paralyzes him with its suddenness.  

 

"This okay? Say the word and I'll stop." Clint rubs his other hand across his hip reassuringly. 

 

"No. No, please. Keep going. I...want you to." His mind races, brief flashes of all the ways they could explore that want. They have time. 

 

"Yes, sir." And there's no way his agent could disguise the smirk in his voice. He'd have to remind Clint later how much more pronounced his Midwestern drawl becomes when he's horny. 

 

All thoughts of later fly from his consciousness when one long, blunt finger penetrates the tight ring of muscle in Phil's ass. He closes his eyes, lets his forehead drop onto Natasha's sweaty shoulder. "Fuck. Fuck, that's good." 

 

"Next time it'll be my cock,” Clint whispers huskily. Phil groans . As Clint begins to push deeper, probing into him with the gentlest of touches, Natasha squirms in frustration. 

 

"Don't forget about me down here," she reminds the pair through their lust-addled haze. 

 

"As if we ever could," Clint jibes. Phil obediently resumes his pace, sinking himself fully into her with every drive forward. So beautiful, both of them. The things they were doing to him were sordid and glorious and God, how did he end up so lucky?

 

Beneath him, Natasha slips her fingers between them to rub at her clit at the same time that Clint pushes a second one into his ass. And it's more than he can take - he goes off like a rocket. Thrusting wildly, he gives a strangled cry and buries himself inside her tight heat, pulsing so hard he can barely breathe. He's never come this hard, not ever. 

 

She finds her peak a moment or so after his. "Holy fuck, I can feel you coming inside me," she pants, and she's gone. Phil will remember for the rest of his life how it feels to be milked by her cunt, squeezing every last drop of come from his dick. 

 

Clint lets himself fall on Phil's back and drops kisses all along his spine. "That," he proclaims, "was fucking amazing."

 

"It really was," agrees the Black Widow herself. 

 

Phil is silent. He’s too blissfully exhausted to comment. 

 

“Is this a good time to ask how you like your eggs?” Clint rolls off and settles lazily onto the rumpled blanket. He waggles his eyebrows suggestively at his handler. 

 

Natasha shrugs. “If he’s cooking, you better go with scrambled,” she whispers conspiratorially to Phil. “It’s the only kind he doesn’t burn.”

 

“That’s a lie. I can boil ‘em, too.”

 

“Not if they’re meant to be edible.”

 

Phil drops a kiss onto Natasha’s bee-stung lips. “I’ll take them,” he says. “Any way I can get them.”

 


End file.
